
SOPHIE B.TITTERINGTON 



Class 



Book. - T .5^ ^ . 
Coipglrt'N?_)u2 


COPYRIGHT DEPOSm 


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4 














l^oice of a Ctifb 



■^fie 

l&oite of a Cf)tli) 


BY 

^opijte 2?ronson '^itterington 



V 


AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY 
150 NASSAU STREET 
NEW YORK 






©CI.A328671 








'Cije ©oitt of a Cfjflli 


I 

JFItnt tenement 


S an air-ship, in its arrow- 
like flight, passes over the 
great city, there comes to 
the ear of those thus far 
aloft, faintly, yet distinctly, 
the roar from the babel of sounds be- 
low, punctuated here and there with the 
sound of human voices. These aerial 
voyagers tell us that nothing from the 
world below pierces the atmosphere 
like the voices of children. Clear and 
pure, they ascend into the ether, where 
other earth-noises scarcely penetrate. 

5 



die t^oice of a Cftilti 


And SO, in a mightier sense, the 
ear of God gathers all — not only the 
roar of traffic, the tread of countless 
multitudes, hut also frightful discords 
of anger, hate, injustice and sin. 
Among these jarring discords sound 
faint, sweet strains that seem a far- 
off echo from heavenly places. Prayers 
from bleeding hearts that steal softly 
into the Ear that always hears ; songs 
that breathe of the divine ; loving 
words spoken in His Name; the old, 
old story told over and over again 
by consecrated lips — such as these 
make music amid earth’s jangling 
notes. Here and there a child’s voice, 
attuned to holy themes, soars sweet 
and clear above the clamor, till even 
the angels hush their harps to listen. 
Peace and good-will are echoed softly, 
as if the Bethlehem strain, passing on 
through the ages, was being sung again 
to tell of a Saviour born for each 
needy soul. 


6 


iFlint 'tenement 


Flint Tenement, in one of the most 
squalid and forlorn portions of the 
great city, was foul and noisome. An 
awakening public sentiment had not 
yet been aroused to the perils of 
these pestilence-breeding habitations. 
Crowded to the limit with human life, 
men, women and children were herded 
together almost like the beasts that 
perish. There was little sunlight, and 
a woful lack of the pure, undefiled 
air of heaven. In all that mass of 
wretched humanity, struggling for 
daily bread, there was scant thought 
of God. His name was rarely spoken 
save in curses, and the blight of want, 
sin and intemperance brooded heavily 
over all. 

Flint Tenement was Jim Maloney ^s 
home. Poor little Jim! From the 
day his drunken father had thrown 
him, a mere baby, down the steep 
tenement stairs he had grown mis- 
shapen. His mother had picked him 
7 


Cfte i^oicc of a Cfjilb 


up, a little crushed atom of humanity, 
and with tireless care amid the most 
difficult surroundings had nursed him 
hack to a marred semblance of life. 
There were plenty to say it had been 
better if she had let him die, for now, 
at the age of ten years, he was a piti- 
able hunchback. But his mother reck- 
oned otherwise. Her hungry heart 
fed upon its passionate love for her 
afflicted, almost helpless child. 

And there were compensations. 
Jim’s face would attract attention any- 
where. Under happier auspices it 
would have been a merry Irish face, 
aglow with good-nature and kindli- 
ness. With the hard conditions of 
pain, privation, foul air and lack of 
sunshine, it was pinched and wan. 
Even as it was, the blue eyes mirrored 
a strange soul for such an environ- 
ment. They were clear and honest, 
and withal had an eager look, as if 
the heart of the little lad hungered 
8 


iFlint 'tenement 


for something beyond its ken. Love 
for his kind spoke from every fea- 
ture of the pale little face. And as 
love begets love, no child in Flint 
Tenement was held in such tender, pro- 
tective atfection, even among the 
rough, poverty-stricken denizens of 
the place. The rule of each for him- 
self, regardless of others, holds for 
the most part among such struggling 
folk as these. Mother love, except 
when dulled by drink, is as strong in 
the tenements as in more favored 
homes, but the needs of the children 
make the struggle for existence doubly 
fierce, and tend to intensify the ele- 
ments of discord. 

Fortunately for his family. Bill 
Maloney, soon after the cruel maiming 
of his little son, fell down the self- 
same stairs, breaking his neck. Re- 
lieved of the incubus of his brutish 
presence, Bridget Maloney, who was 
an honest, hardworking woman, had 
9 


Clje ©Dice of a Cfjilb 


the benefit of what she was able to 
earn for the support of herself and 
little Jim. Heretofore she had lived 
in daily jeopardy of having her 
meager wage taken from her and 
spent for drink. 

She made small pretense of mourn- 
ing for Bill, who had been anything 
but a good husband and father, judged 
even by the standard in Flint Tene- 
ment. She settled down to harder 
work than ever, and her efforts were 
rewarded by a measure of success. 
Her mother love did not falter in its 
devotion to Jim and his interests, 
although it was evident that he would 
never be able to help in lifting the 
daily burdens. His helplessness made 
the brooding love all the more tender, 
and its influence kept her a decent and 
temperate woman even in the evil 
atmosphere of tenement life. 

As the years passed on, and Jim 
grew out of babyhood, it could be 
10 


JFUnt 'tenement 


plainly seen that, with all his gentle, 
loving ways, he possessed a force of 
personality that gave him a strange 
power over the rough, wicked boys 
of Ferry Alley. With all his mis- 
fortune and frailty there was no sug- 
gestion of babyish weakness. His very 
deformity seemed to appeal to their 
better natures, for they never teased 
or ridiculed him. Every boy in the 
neighborhood was Jim’s sworn cham- 
pion, ready to give battle to any out- 
sider that otfered derision or unkind- 
ness. 

It was well that the outside condi- 
tions were so pleasant and physically 
safe for the hoy, for otherwise he 
would have been more closely confined 
in the dark tenement room. The stern 
necessity for labor to earn their daily 
bread took Mrs. Maloney from home 
most of the time on week-days, and 
knowing that Jim was safe among his 
friends, she felt little anxiety on his 
11 


'STijc l^oite of a CijiliJ 


account. So he lived out in the street 
the greater part of every day in warm, 
pleasant weather, enjoying the occa- 
sional rays of sunshine that penetrated 
between the tall buildings on either 
side of the street, habitations just as 
full of teeming life as Flint Tenement, 
and hailing with delight the breezes 
that now and then brought a breath 
of freshness into the alley. There was 
not much in his surroundings to de- 
velop Jim’s moral or spiritual nature, 
but some force within him seemed to 
turn him from the evil and impel him 
to reach out toward the good and 
pure. 


12 


II 

31 



IM was a born singer. Pain 
and hunger and cold could 
not crush the music out of 
his soul. He sang the street 
songs caught here and there, 
as well as the melodies from wander- 
ing hand-organs, until, under the spell 
of his strains, Ferry Alley was, for 
the time being at least, a less doleful 
and miserable place. As stormy days 
came, or the cold drove him indoors, 
he was welcome in many a room in 
the great tenement for the sake of his 
singing. True, most of his songs were 
the coarse and ribald music of the 
streets, but somehow his high, sweet 
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l^oice of a Cftilb 


voice redeemed them from vulgarity, 
and in spite of their character they 
touched many a slumbering heart to a 
longing for better things. 

Jim always knew when Sunday 
came, for then his mother was at home, 
ready to devote herself to his com- 
fort. He would have also recognized 
it for another reason, as it was on 
Sunday that he could hear the chimes 
play in the steeple of St. Paul’s. He 
loved the bells with almost a passion- 
ate intensity. When they rang, the 
air seemed full of music to the lad. 
Another sure token of Sunday was the 
noise and clamor in the house; for 
the men were at home on this one day 
in seven, usually drunk and quarrel- 
some. He always longed to escape, to 
be alone with his mother and the 
bells; for although he had been used 
to the rough turmoil all his life, it 
always saddened his sensitive soul. 

Like a fine violin, all the chords of 
14 


^ong 


Jim’s nature seemed to vibrate with 
music. The street organs and the 
bells furnished all the harmonies that 
came his way, yet from them he drew 
deep draughts of delight. The bells 
were the best of all, and sometimes, 
sitting in his mother’s lap, listening, 
as the sound rose above the surround- 
ing turmoil, the rapture in the child’s 
soul became pain, too exquisite to 
miss, and yet almost too much to bear. 

Jim Maloney was in many ways a 
mystery to his mother. Bridget came 
of a music-loving race, and was very 
proud of her little lad’s wonderful 
voice and of his songs. She, too, liked 
to hear the chimes, but they awakened 
in her soul no such emotions as stirred 
the hunchback boy. Because he loved 
the bells, she was content to sit with 
him as long as the music of their 
mellow tones echoed over the city. 
kin hear them better, mammy, in your 
lap,” he would say, and as he nestled 
15 


^t)t l^otce of a Cfitlb 


in her arms he listened in an ecstasy 
of joy. 

Now and then, on pleasant Sunday 
afternoons, Jim would coax his es- 
pecial crony, Bob, to take him out for 
a walk beyond the dreary confines of 
the alley. On week days, during his 
mother’s absences, this was strictly 
forbidden. One particular Sunday 
was destined to be a red-letter day 
in the memory of both the boys. 

Leaving the alley with its dreary 
associations behind them, they went 
slowly on, directed, we must believe, 
by a loving Providence. A few streets 
away Jim was forced to stop and 
rest. The boys seated themselves on 
the steps of a simple white building 
which was in striking contrast to the 
tall, gloomy tenements near at hand. 
The golden October sun shone kindly 
on the lads. Soon a burst of music 
from within made Jim clasp his thin 
hands in delight. It was unlike any 
16 


H ^cto ^ong 


music he had ever heard. The words 
came distinctly, sung by childish 
voices : 

“Jesus loves me, this I know. 

For the Bible tells me so.“ 

Presently the door opened, and a 
kindly faced gentleman looked down 
upon the little waifs. 

Pale hunchback Jim moved his pity, 
but when the boy looked up, the eager 
soul shining through the great blue 
eyes, plainly a hungry soul, moved him 
still more. He came down the steps 
to the children. Bob, who had learned 
in the hard school of experience to be 
wary of strangers, would have run 
away, only that he was too chivalrous 
to desert his “little pard,’’ as he 
always called Jim. 

The gentleman invited the boys in, 
assuring them that they would find 
plenty more boys and girls just like 
themselves. Bob hung back, having 
17 


Cije t^oice of a Cftilir 


little inclination to trust himself in a 
strange place. Jim, looking earnestly 
into the kind face, asked: “Will they 
sing some more!” 

“Yes, indeed,” was the answer, 
“come in and listen.” 

Jim, entirely won, put his small, 
grimy hand into that of the speaker, 
who gently aided him in his painful 
etfort to climb the steps. Bob reluct- 
antly followed, and, on entering the 
door, the two little fellows found them- 
selves in a pleasant room, bright with 
pictures and sunshine, and filled with 
groups of children, many of whom 
were every hit as ragged as they were 
themselves. 

Their guide led Bob and Jim to a 
corner group of boys gathered around 
the loveliest lady Jim had ever seen. 
His acquaintance with the world out- 
side the slum in which he lived had 
been so slight that in this simple little 
mission school everything seemed to 
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3i ^ons 


him wonderful and beautiful. In this 
corner class the superintendent left 
them, and giving the assembled chil- 
dren a signal, they hurst once more 
into song, led by an organ played by 
a young girl. 

It was all a great wonder to Jim. 
A hand organ had been the only mu- 
sical instrument he had ever seen, and 
the rich tones of this new instrument 
mingling with the children’s voices 
were entrancing. If his ignorant little 
soul had known anything about heaven 
or the angels, he would surely have 
thought he had wandered into the 
place of many mansions. As it was, 
the joy was almost too intense. He 
listened breathlessly as the united 
voices filled the air with melody. 
This time the words were different: 

“ I am so glad that our Father in Heaven 

Tells of his love in the Book he has given. ’ ’ 

Then came the chorus, ringing out 
19 


J^otce ot a Cfjilb 


clear and strong. The song was evi- 
dently a favorite. The children sang 
all the verses of the hymn, and after 
the third, Miss Alice, the teacher of 
the class, was surprised to hear the 
chorus taken up by a strange voice, 
thrillingly sweet and pure. Looking 
around, she saw her new pupil, the 
pale little hunchback, singing away, 
evidently forgetting all around him 
in the joy of the music. Her very soul 
was thrilled. What rare treasure was 
this in its marred and misshapen set- 
ting? 

Another hymn was sung, and again 
Jim caught the chorus. This time the 
superintendent heard the wonderful 
voice, and looking over into the corner 
class discovered the singer. But noth- 
ing was said at the time, and the 
lesson hour followed. 

The subject for the day was the 
raising of Lazarus. Miss Alice had 
a gift for teaching, and the marvelous 
20 


H J^eto ^ong 


story of a man who could bring the 
dead to life was like a fairy tale. Jim 
listened as if in a dream. Then he 
put out his little thin hand and softly 
touched Miss Alice’s arm. 

“Please, ma’am,” he said, “what 
might be the name of that gentleman f’ 
“What gentleman, my boy? ” 

“Why, the one that made the dead 
man come alive.” 

Some of the rough boys in the 
class began to laugh and nudge each 
other, and Bob’s quick ear caught the 
word “Hunchback.” He glowered at 
the offenders in such a determined 
fashion that they quieted down before 
Miss Alice could see this little by-play. 
She answered Jim’s question. 

“It was Jesus. The first hymn we 
sang said ‘Jesus loves me.’ When he 
was on this earth, long, long ago, 
he made sick people well, dead people 
alive, and blind folks to see. He 
loved every one.” 


21 


Cfje t^oicc of a Ctiilb 


“Please, ma’am, where does he live 
now! ” asked Jim eagerly. 

“In heaven, and he loves every one 
of ns just as much as when he lived 
on this earth.” 

“Where is heaven!” queried Jim. 
“Ef it ain’t too fur, I want to go and 
ask him ef he won’t come into our 
alley.” 

Miss Alice hesitated. How could 
she make the matter clear to this ig- 
norant, longing little soul! She must 
tell the old, sweet story of Jesus’ 
birth, work and death, before such a 
one could understand even one of 
the gracious miracles of that life of 
love. 

So she began with the shepherds, 
the singing angels, and the star. Step 
by step she took them briefly over 
the three years of blessed ministry, 
ending with the death on the cross 
that we might be saved, and of his 
going back to heaven, where he now 
22 


21 ^eto ,^ons 


lives, beyond our earthly sight, but 
still as ready to bless seeking ones as 
ever. Spellbound, the ignorant little 
group hung upon her words, while 
Jim kept his great hungry blue eyes 
fixed upon her face during the entire 
narration. 

Before she was quite ready the bell 
rang, the pretty girl took her place at 
the organ, and the children prepared 
to sing once more. This time it was 
the triumphant hymn, “Bing the Bells 
of Heaven.” It was not quite easy 
for Jim to catch this chorus, but by 
the last verse he had it, and could 
sing “Glory” with the rest. The rous- 
ing refrain took on added richness and 
sweetness with the help of the new 
voice. It rang through the room, and 
far into the street, bringing thoughts 
of heaven to many a listener without 
the fold. 

After the school was dismissed the 
boys all spoke to the little cripple with 
23 


Cfje ©oite of a Cfjilii 


hearty good-will. Here, as he did 
everywhere, he had disarmed hostility 
and won hearts by the simple pathos 
and sweetness of his face and voice. 
The man who had brought them in, 
and whom they learned to know as 
the superintendent, shook hands with 
Boh and Jim, inquiring where they 
lived with such evident interest that 
even Bob’s distrust was shaken. Miss 
Alice beamed on them with her own 
winning smile, saying that she should 
look for them both in her corner class 
the next Sunday. Jim looked doubt- 
fully in Bob’s face, and said: 

“Ef he’ll bring me, ma’am, I’ll come. 
Mammy won’t let me go anywheres 
by myself.” 

But Bob could not be induced to 
commit himself. He hurried Jim from 
the building, and, once in the street, 
they slowly wended their way back to 
Ferry Alley. 

Jim was weary enough by the time 
24 


31 ^ong 


they reached Flint Tenement, and Bob 
half carried him up the stairs to his 
mother’s room. She had been greatly 
worried over his long absence, and 
was relieved to see him and ready to 
listen with interest to his recital of 
the afternoon’s experiences. As he 
lay resting on the rude cot he lived 
over again the happy time. He tried 
to give his mother an idea of the 
wonderful story Miss Alice had told 
them, and reiterated his wish that 
Jesus, who so loved and helped every- 
body, healing the sick, and raising the 
dead, could come to their alley. 

“Why, mammy,” he said, “those 
folks over there who talked about 
Jesus ain’t like us poor folks. They’re 
clean an’ nice an’ pretty. I guess 
they must be a bit like Him. I wish 
I could see Him ! ” he added wistfully. 
“Maybe he’d make my back well an’ 
straight an’ make it stop hurtin’. No- 
body here knows Jesus. I allers 
25 


die l^oice of a Cfiilti 


thought it was a bad word till Miss 
Alice telled us about Him/^ 

Mrs. Maloney sighed. “Mony’s the 
long day since I’ve heard aught about 
the blissed Jasus. The Sisters in the 
convent when I was a bit of a gurrul 
used to tache us about God an’ Jasus 
an’ His blissed Mother Mary in the 
parish school; but the throuble an’ 
misery drove thim out of me mind. 
The Name is shpoken too oft in curses, 
an’ there’s plinty of thim shure ! ” 
Presently Jim began singing the 
choruses he had learned at the mission 
school. His rendering was imperfect, 
but how new and sweet they sounded 
after the rough street songs which had 
been the only music, save that of the 
bells, he had ever heard ! His mother, 
listening, wiped her eyes. 

“Faith, an’ if the angels sing ony 
swater, it’s mesilf wud like to hear 
thim ! The praste comes an’ takes our 
money, but sorra a bit of comfort does 
26 


B ^cfa) ^ong 


he lave behint him. He may schold 
all he will about Jamie’s going to a 
Protestant school, but if it makes the 
poor lad so happy, go he shall ! ” 

And Jim did go through all the 
pleasant autumn Sundays. Bob was 
persuaded to take him, a small private 
bribe from Mrs. Maloney aiding his 
own secret inclination. Every week the 
little fellow would come home with a 
new song, or with an old one more 
perfectly learned. Now that he had 
these fresh stores from which to draw, 
the old street songs were heard no 
more; and by means of his angelic 
voice little Jim was singing the Gos- 
pel, not only in Flint Tenement but 
through all the alley. 

He brought home more than the 
^ hymns, sweet and uplifting as they 
were. Each week he would recall as 
much as possible of the lesson story 
told by Miss Alice for his mother, who 
came to look forward to this with an 
27 


Cfje Incite of a Cf)Ui> 


interest and longing she herself could 
scarcely have explained. It was not 
only that she loved to hear the quaint 
rendering as it fell from her little 
lad’s lips, hut the truth itself, blessedly 
simple and plain, was like food to a 
starving soul. During the week, as 
the usual groups gathered around him 
to hear him sing, he would often re- 
peat the lesson to his attentive 
audience in the intervals he had to 
take for rest. 

It was not long before the effect 
of Jim’s ministry could he seen. When 
the weather was warm enough a crowd 
was sure to gather around the step 
where he was sitting, and they never 
seemed tired of listening either to the 
song or to the story. The new songs 
were received with a favor that had 
never been accorded to the old rough 
street melodies. 


28 


Ill 

CfjE t©ee /USeemstEr 


UPEEINTENDENT GAR- 
RICK of the Good Hope 
Mission was out one warm 
bright November afternoon 
looking after his scattered 
flock. The day was a faint, misty re- 
minder of a vanished summer. The 
sun rays that succeeded in penetrating 
the deep alleys were heat-giving and 
comforting. From out of the tenement- 
houses had crept forth the infirm, the 
aged, the children, and the mothers, too, 
as they had time and opportunity, to 
enjoy the purer air of the street before 
the winter’s cold should make them 
weary prisoners in dark, close rooms 
29 



Cte ^otce of a C^ilb 


within the dreary walls. It was not 
strange that they should dread the 
darkness and the odors of their prison. 
Life amid such surroundings could 
hold little of cheer and happiness. 

Turning down Polk Street, seeking 
Ferry Alley and Jim, Mr. Garrick 
heard a childish voice, clear, strong 
and sweet, singing a mission-school 
hymn. Guided by the sound, he soon 
came upon a surprising sight. Sit- 
ting on an old box was the object of 
his search, surrounded by a motley 
group of old and young, black and 
white, listening intently while the boy 
sang to them the songs of Zion. As 
Jim caught sight of his friend the 
song abruptly ceased, and the boy 
hastened toward him as fast as his 
weak limbs could carry him. The joy 
in the lad’s face was unmistakable. 
Was not this the hand that had 
opened to him a new and blessed 
world? 


30 


l©ce ^eenifittr 


As they reached the wondering group 
Jim said, by way of introduction : 
“This is the gentleman at the school 
where Bob an’ I goes Sundays.” 
There was an attempt at response; 
some nodded, while one old man, in 
dim remembrance of a better past, 
lifted the battered remains of a hat. 

“Glad to see you, my friends,” said 
Mr. Garrick, with a cordial smile that 
left no doubt of his sincerity. “I am 
glad, too, that you are listening to 
such good words as little Jim, here, 
sings to you. If you will heed them, 
they will tell you of a Home where 
there is no more hunger or cold, no 
more sickness or pain, and where 
every want is supplied.” 

Amid a chorus of “That’s so,” and 
other ejaculations, Mr. Garrick fol- 
lowed Jim to his mother’s room where 
they could have a quiet talk. Bridget 
was away at work, as was usual on 
week-days, and it was a great joy to 
81 


©oitc of a Cijilti 


the little fellow to have this visit from 
his beloved friend. 

Mr. Garrick had not realized the 
extent of Jim’s weakness until he wit- 
nessed his painful effort to climb the 
tenement stairs. He lifted the slight 
form in his arms and carried him to 
the top, his heart full of pity for the 
lad. Once seated in the bare little 
room, neat in spite of evident poverty, 
he drew from Jim many details of his 
daily life, which only increased the 
compassion swelling in the listener’s 
soul. He caught glimpses of a rare 
and beautiful nature, developing, like 
the water lily in the filthy pool, in the 
midst of such defilement as was be- 
yond description. He studied the white, 
pinched face, with no mark of evil 
taint upon it ; the blue eyes, which were 
ever filled with a hungry longing. He 
felt that he ought to do something for 
the lad. Jim ought to be placed where 
he would be cared for and helped, so 
82 


etc 1©cc /HSccnisftcr 


far as it might be found possible, to 
rise above the physical harm inflicted 
by a drunken father’s hand. The soul 
development would be certain to be 
something fair and sweet. That won- 
derful voice, under happier auspices, 
might be trained to do a marvelous 
work for the Master whom Jim had 
learned in a dim way to love. 

With an overwhelming emotion of 
tenderness Mr. Garrick lifted the crip- 
pled boy into his lap. 

“Jim,” said he, “how would you 
like to go out into the country with 
your mother to a nice, clean little 
home where you would have plenty 
to eat and to wear? ” 

“An’ what would it be like ? ” he 
asked. 

Mr. Garrick tried to describe to him 
as best he could the green fields, the 
trees, the flowers, the bird songs, the 
peacefulness. He also pictured a 
pretty little cottage home with a 
83 


'Cfjc t^oice of a CIbilii 


meny brook running by. But Jim 
shook his head with a puzzled air and 
seemed unsatisfied. 

“I’m thinkin’ it’ll be lonesome like,” 
he said. “There’s folks here, an’ they 
like me an’ I like them. What wud 
they do ef I wasn’t here to sing for 
them ? ” 

Poor little fellow ! Mr. Garrick was 
compelled to recognize the fact that 
the great tenement-house was home to 
the child, the only home he had ever 
known. The crowding humanity 
around him had shown him only their 
kindest side, and in the country, even 
with all its sweetness and delight, 
where the scattered people were stran- 
gers, differing so greatly from those 
he had known, he would be indeed 
lonely. The book of nature had been 
sealed to him, but the book of human 
nature was an open and familiar page. 
Around this unwholesome and wretch- 
ed spot his heart-strings were en- 
84 


Cfje l©ce USeenigter 


twined, and if the ties were rudely 
severed the boy would droop and die. 

The visitor saw the situation and 
was wise enough to accept it. He did 
not even tell Jim of a plan he had 
been at some trouble to arrange 
for the removal of the child and his 
mother to a healthier, better home 
outside the city, where Mrs. Maloney 
would have a chance to earn good 
wages without being away from her 
boy during the day. This would seem 
at first thought far better for them 
both, but now matters appeared in a 
different light. It was evident that 
Jim, in spite of deformity, weakness 
and constant suffering, was doing a 
work in Ferry Alley that the mission- 
school, with all its equipment, was 
unable to do. The mission had been 
the starting-point of the new impulse, 
and was being used of God to fit 
Jim for his work among the needy, 
wicked souls about him. The dear 
35 


'Cfje l^oitc of a Cfjilb 


Lord, seeing the end from the be- 
ginning, must have set the little hunch- 
back, Jim Maloney, in this very place 
to do a special and beautiful work 
for Him. 

The visit from Mr. Garrick did Jim 
a world of good. And Bridget Ma- 
loney, hearing the whole story from 
the child, was strengthened in her 
allegiance to the school and her oppo- 
sition to the priest. She could not 
help a sigh of regret when she heard 
of the proffered home in the country, 
for in her girlhood she had known the 
delights of living close to nature in the 
old country; but she saw clearly, as 
had Mr. Garrick, that if Jim were 
torn from his native environment his 
soul would be rent by homesickness 
and his frail hold on life rendered still 
more insecure. 

All too soon the cold weather came 
in good earnest, and the alley could 
36 


'Cfje t©ec /HBctmgter 


no longer be a place of assembly. 
Jim warbled away in his own room 
or beside other friendly fires. He 
keenly felt the change from the out- 
door life, but there was within his 
soul a new peace and contentment 
that kept his face always sunny and 
bright. 

One Sunday morning, so cold and 
bleak that Jim was sorrowfully aware 
that the thinness of his rags would 
keep him from his beloved school, 
there came a knock at Bridget Malo- 
ney’s door. As she opened it, to her 
surprise there stood Sandy Murray, 
a big, burly Scotchman, the hardest 
drinker and one of the worst char- 
acters among all the dwellers in Flint 
Tenement. Bridget wondered greatly 
what had brought him to her door, 
and well she might, for his errand 
was a strange one. 

He greeted her with a courteous 
bow, for Sandy had a way, when he 
37 


)^otce of a Cfitlb 


chose, that suggested a good early up- 
bringing, and said: 

“If you please, mum, the singin’ of 
your little Jim has made some of us 
remember auld times, when we used 
to hev a Sunday an’ a God. We ken 
it all, an’ noo we want him to sing 
to us an’ see if we can’t be baith 
different an’ better one day in the 
week.” 

“Shure, shure, come in an’ hearty 
welcome to ye,” she said with Irish 
heartiness. “Me room is shmall, as 
ye see, but crowd in as mony as ye 
kin. Jamie’ll he glad to sing.” 

“I hae twa rooms,” said Sandy, 
“an’ mayhap we’d best use them. 
Bring the laddie ower in ahoot an 
oor. If he will gie us the sangs, I’ll 
see ahoot the congregation.” And 
with another how that spoke of good 
breeding in days that were past, he 
departed. 

Mrs. Maloney was almost over- 
38 


^i)e t©cc JRBcenigter 


whelmed at the honor shown her lit- 
tle lad. She could scarcely have been 
more astonished had the evil one him- 
self brought the invitation, for Sandy 
Murray was popularly supposed by 
the dwellers in Flint Tenement to be- 
long, body and soul, to the Prince of 
Darkness, so thoroughly wicked and 
depraved did he seem. 

And yet, had she known his history, 
she need not have wondered so greatly. 
For Sandy was once a little laddie 
in old Scotland, going to the kirk with 
godly parents every Sabbath day, and 
well versed in the catechism, as all 
properly hr ought-up Scottish children 
are expected to be. His mother was 
a gentle soul, who tempered the rigid 
ceremonials and led the heart of her 
little son by cords of tender love. He 
was a wilful, high-spirited lad, need- 
ing just such restraining influences 
as his mother threw about him. He 
was still a mere boy when the sudden 
89 


l^oice of a Cfjilb 


deaths of both father and mother with- 
in a few weeks of each other left Sandy 
to the care of a stern old uncle, whose 
rigorous treatment caused him to run 
away to America. 

Left to his own devices, with un- 
limited liberty, he fell into evil ways, 
and, as is common with strong natures, 
went to the extreme in wrong-doing. 
His had indeed been a downward path, 
but Jim’s songs had touched the 
chords of memory, and the teachings 
of his childhood and of his mother 
had asserted their influence. 

As Mrs. Maloney mused and won- 
dered, she washed Jim’s hands and face 
till they shone, and smoothed his hair 
with a bit of a comb. Having ar- 
ranged his worn clothing and her own 
to the best possible advantage, they 
set out for Sandy’s apartments. These 
were quite at the other end of the 
house, but there were, fortunately, no 
stairs to climb. 


40 


Cfte f©ce JfllSeenisiter 


Sandy had been out inviting his 
neighbors, and the larger room was 
nearly full, with more constantly ar- 
riving. As might have been expected, 
the audience consisted for the most 
part of women and children, although 
here and there an old man was in evi- 
dence. A rocking chair, perhaps the 
only one in the house, was reserved 
as the seat of honor for little Jim. 
Many were standing, as seats could 
not be provided for all. Sandy’s 
wife, a sorrowful, meek-faced woman, 
seemed as if in a dream over the 
new and strange developments. Now 
and then she would furtively wipe 
away the tears that gathered in her 
faded eyes. Surely it was in stri- 
king contrast to the usual Sabbath 
program of carousing and blasphemy! 
When the large room was full and 
there were no more standing places, 
the smaller room held an expectant 
group gathered about the door. 


l^oicc of a Cijilb 


Jim sang all his songs amid a 
hush broken only by the occasional 
cry of a child. When he paused, a 
voice asked from somewhere in the 
quiet crowd — the voice of a woman: 

“Tell us about this Jesus, Jim. He 
don’t live in our alley, sure!” 

“That he don’t !” groaned Sandy 
Murray, his face hidden in his hands. 
It was a new thing for him to be sober 
on the Sabbath day, and conscience, 
memory and appetite were making 
him as miserable as a man could well 
be. And the reason for his unusual 
sobriety was a song he had heard 
Jim sing the Friday night before. 
Verily, “a little child shall lead them.” 

The first single request was sec- 
onded by other voices, and so Jim, 
somewhat embarrassed by his large 
audience, tried to tell the simple story 
of Jesus as Miss Alice had told it, 
aided by Bob, who supplied a word 
here and there and nodded vigorous 
42 


Cl)c i©ec |ticcni£(ter 


encouragement whenever his little 
“pard’’ hesitated. The silence was 
absolute. Mothers hushed restless 
babies, that not a word spoken by the 
little lad should be lost. It was in- 
deed a strange congregation and a 
strange preacher. Out of the mouth 
of “babes and sucklings” the divine 
truths were falling upon needy hearts. 

When Jim had finished the lesson 
he sank wearily back in his chair. 
The effort of the morning had been a 
severe strain upon his feeble frame. 
Big Sandy came to his side and said: 

“Friends, I dinna ken boo ye feel 
aboot it, hut I feel this lad has done 
us a rare good turn this day. An’ 
I say we should do somewhat to show 
him we ken it. He must aye hae 
something warm, so he can gae to the 
school and learn more to tell us. 
Onybody that wants to help, just gie 
it tae me. We’ve lived like the beasts, 
aye, an’ waur, an’ we’ve got to quit. 

43 


t^otce of a Cfitlb 


Leastways, I’m goin’ tae do it. Now 
I’ll jist carry the wee laddie hame an’ 
let him rest.” 

And thus closed the first Christian 
service that had ever been held in 
Flint Tenement. Sandy Murray, 
strange as it may seem, was the mov- 
ing spirit. He was a born leader. 
In evil he had been the terror and the 
admiration of Ferry Alley. As we 
have seen, Jim’s songs had touched 
a tender chord of memory that had 
recalled his mother in old Scotland. 
They recalled her prayers and hymns, 
and even the old catechism, the words 
of which haunted him strangely. It 
was manifest that the Spirit of God 
was working upon the heart of the 
prodigal. 


44 


IV 

<!^ut of tfje 31Uep 



HO can tell the outcome of 
the smallest wave of influ- 


ence? The good work in 
Flint Tenement, set in mo- 
tion by the thrilling voice of 


a weak and afflicted child, grew week 
by week, silently for the most part, yet 
strongly and steadily. Sabbath by 
Sabbath frail little Jim carried on 
a mission whose results cannot be 
summed up until the final rendering 
of accounts. 

Flint Tenement out of its deep pov- 
erty actually provided a coarse yet 
warm overcoat for its “wee meenis- 
ter,” as Sandy called him. As the 


45 


'Cf)e l^otce of a Cfjilti 


weather grew severe the big Scotch- 
man fell into the habit of picking Jim 
up in his strong arms and carrying 
him to the Good Hope Mission School, 
always appearing in time to carry him 
home again, yet resolutely declining 
all invitations to enter. Bob was also 
now a regular attendant for the love 
of it, and quite a number of the chil- 
dren of the alley had been drawn into 
the warm, delightful schoolroom on 
Sunday afternoons. 

No pen can picture the struggle go- 
ing on in Sandy Murray’s soul as 
the days and. weeks passed. Now and 
then he fell before the terrible temp- 
tation of a long-indulged appetite ; 
yet after each fall he would rise with 
a more dogged determination than 
ever to conquer. He was always so- 
ber on Sundays, ready to meet the re- 
sponsibilities connected with the weekly 
service of song and lesson. Life 
seemed to him full of terrible menace, 
46 


0ut of tj)e HUep 


but he was not yet ready to seek the 
help which alone would enable him to 
win a complete victory. 

The steady growth in interest made 
the accommodation of the Sunday 
morning congregations in Flint Tene- 
ment a serious problem. Only a small 
portion of those wishing to attend 
could be packed into Sandy’s rooms. 
These were the most capacious in the 
house, and must be made to answer. 
Mr. Murray, as he was beginning to 
be called, was a born general, and 
arranged a division of the forces, 
each division taking its own turn, thus 
giving every one who desired at least 
an occasional chance to hear the songs 
and the Bible story. 

It must be confessed that this weekly 
effort, although so much enjoyed by 
Jim, taxed his strength sorely, so 
that only by resting for a time in ab- 
solute quiet in his little room could 
he go to his beloved Sunday-school in 
47 


Cfje i^oice of a CljUiif 


the afternoon. Had it not been also 
for Big Sandy’s invariable service in 
carrying him there, his attendance 
would have been out of the question. 
As it was, Superintendent Garrick 
had no idea of the work being done 
by the child. Miss Alice noted how 
eagerly he listened, as if drinking in 
every word, but she never dreamed of 
the wider audience waiting to receive 
the same truths. 

Neither did Jim, in his simple- 
heartedness, comprehend the extent of 
his quiet endeavor. But as the win- 
ter wore away there was a perceptible 
difference in the moral atmosphere 
of the great tenement. Sunday was 
becoming a quieter day. There was 
less drinking and noisy disturbance, 
although, under the circumstances, it 
could not be expected that these would 
cease altogether. A hush, wonderful 
for the place, settled upon the Sab- 
bath morning hours. It was because 
48 


<i^ut of tf)c HUcp 


the human hearts within its walls 
were being led Godward by the voice 
of a misshapen, suffering child. 
Other voices caught the refrain of the 
songs, and through the week weary 
women toiling over their work light- 
ened their heavy hearts by singing 
over and over the holy words. 

One thing had for some time sorely 
troubled Jim. Mr. Garrick always 
offered a simple prayer at the opening 
of the school. Ought he not to do the 
same for his little congregation? It 
had only of late come within Jim’s 
understanding that he could talk with 
this dear Jesus in the sky. He set- 
tled the matter in his own mind, and 
the very next Sunday he surprised his 
auditors by kneeling down and fold- 
ing his thin hands. And this was his 
prayer : 

“Dear Jesus up in heaven, we can’t 
see you, but you can see and hear us. 
We are wicked folks and don’t know 
49 


i^oice of a Cl^Ub 


how to obey yon. Please make us 
know what you want us to do. Amen.” 

Big Sandy Murray groaned aloud. 
He too had prayed at his mother’s 
knee, but it was so long ago ! 

Upon this day Jim sang more like 
an angel than ever. It seemed as if 
the dear Lord, because the lad had 
obeyed a blessed impulse, had so filled 
his soul with joy and peace that its 
sweetness echoed through his voice 
and its reflection transfigured his pale 
face. Later, many recalled the look 
of rapture, and said it was like one 
close to the gates of heaven. The Bi- 
ble story was the feeding of the multi- 
tude, and tears dropped from many 
eyes unused to weeping as in simple, 
childish language the scene was pic- 
tured before them. God through His 
Spirit was sending home the truth to 
more than one heart. 

The next Sunday morning word was 
passed through the building that Jim 
50 


0ut of tf)C Hllep 


was sick. A sudden cold wave of 
more than usual intensity had pene- 
trated the thin walls of the tenement- 
house, and the frail little fellow had 
succumbed before its deadly chill. 
Pneumonia seized him in its relentless 
grasp, and no means available seemed 
to help in the struggle. Bridget Ma- 
loney’s room was besieged with anx- 
ious inquirers and otfers of help. 
This was a new feature in Flint Tene- 
ment, where in former days every one 
battled for himself and those de- 
pendent on him, heedless of his neigh- 
bor. But conditions were changing, 
and all hearts were sore with anxiety 
for their dear little singing preacher. 

That afternoon, as Superintendent 
Garrick was on his way to Good Hope 
Mission School, he was met by Sandy 
Murray, who told him, with tears run- 
ning down his face, of the dangerous 
illness of little Jim. Under Mr. Gar- 
rick’s questioning the story came out 
51 


'Cijt l^oicc of a Cfjilii 


regarding the child’s work, and the 
Christian man was thrilled by the 
wonder and pathos of Jim’s simple 
effort for Jesns. Clasping hands with 
big, rough Sandy in silent sympathy, 
he went on his way, promising to go 
to Flint Tenement as soon as possible. 

After the mission school service 
was over Miss Alice and Mr. Garrick 
found their way into Ferry Alley. 
Sandy was watching for them, and 
led the way up the stairs of the house 
to Mrs. Maloney’s room. They found 
dear little Jim unconscious of his sur- 
roundings. The fever burned fiercely, 
and in his delirium, between the 
spasms of coughing, he would try to 
sing. Bob, faithful Bob, was sobbing 
beside the small bed. He had not left 
the spot for a moment since morning, 
not even for food. 

Mrs. Maloney stood by, her face 
drawn with anguish, but tearless. 

“Yis, mum, he’s all I’ve got,” she 
52 


<!^ut of tfje HUep 


said to Miss Alice. “But it’s the an- 
gel’s voice he’s had, an’ the angel’s 
soul, an’ I can’t kape him here. 
Ahone! ahone!” and her voice broke 
into an Irish wail. 

The best medical skill and tender 
care were procured, but they were of 
no avail for little Jim. Pain and 
privation had so weakened his vitality 
that there was no strength with which 
to resist the disease. Miss Alice her- 
self, with a trained nurse, stayed by 
until the end. The purity of the 
child’s soul was evident. In the worst 
of his delirium there was not an evil 
word, not a reflection of the profanity 
and vile language with which he had 
been surrounded since his birth. The 
Bible stories and the sweet songs filled 
his mind. It was a revelation of the 
power of God to keep a human soul 
pure in the midst of pollution. 

Consciousness returned for a brief 
moment before the end. The weak 
63 


<^t)t )^otce of a Cfitlfi 


voice tried to sing “Jesus loves me,” 
but failed. “I can just say Jesus!” 
be whispered. Then there was an 
eager look upward, the blue eyes 
shone with a glorious light, and little 
Jim’s soul went home. The poor, 
misshapen body was left behind, and 
on the worn, wasted face rested a 
peace and joy ineffable. 

Deep was the grief through all the 
great tenement-house. Mr. Garrick 
arranged that the funeral services 
should be held in the little white 
chapel — the place Jim had so loved. 
His offer to meet all the expenses of 
burial was met by Sandy Murray with 
a quiet, dignified refusal. 

“We thank you for your kindness,” 
he said, “but I’m thinkin’ tenement 
folks would rather bury their leetle 
meenister themselves. We’ll gie the 
coffin, onyhow, if ye’ll be gude enow 
to luik after the rest.” 

And so it was arranged. On the day 
54 


<l^ut of tfjc HUep 


that intervened before the funeral, it 
almost seemed as if the small, de- 
formed body were lying in state, so 
many weeping faces bent continually 
over it. 

Not wishing to frighten with a 
strange minister these people unused 
to churches, Mr. Garrick himself con- 
ducted the simple services. The little 
coffin, the gift of Jim’s “congregation,” 
had upon it a cluster of white flowers, 
the offering of Miss Alice and the 
corner class. 

Almost all of Jim’s tenement friends 
were there. Mrs. Maloney, in a de- 
cent suit of mourning, sat beside the 
coffin. The fitting, earnest words 
spoken over the marred body of the 
child who had so sweetly sung and 
talked of Jesus made a deep impres- 
sion upon all. The desolate mother 
drank in the glorious hope of the res- 
urrection, and was comforted, while 
the picture held up before them all of 
55 


'Cte ©otce of a Cfjilir 


Jim, no longer deformed and suffer- 
ing, but clothed in a beautiful, immor- 
tal body, could never be forgotten. 

After the simple service was over, 
and all had taken a last look at the 
dear, peaceful face, the pall-bearers, 
selected from the corner class, who 
had tenderly carried all that was left 
of Jim from the humble room to the 
chapel, now bore the little white 
casket to the waiting hearse. Not 
only in the tenement was Jim’s influ- 
ence felt, but those in the school 
brought into contact with his sweet, 
unspoiled nature were taught a lesson 
which few of them ever forgot. 

Jim was gone, but his work went 
on. Big Sandy Murray forsook his 
cups and his evil ways, seeking and 
finding his mother’s God. He was an 
expert workman, earning good wages, 
and now that drink no longer took its 
heavy toll he had enough to support 
his family in comfort. But instead 
56 


<!^ut of tfje 3IUep 


of moving to a more pleasant and re- 
spectable part of the city, he chose 
to stay in Flint Tenement and do all 
in his power to carry on Jim’s work 
by the transforming etfect of Christly 
living and earnest Christian endeavor. 
He was a faithful co-laborer with Mr. 
Garrick, and the two took good care 
that the holy influences set in motion 
should not cease. A special service 
for tenement-house people was held 
in the little white chapel on Sunday 
mornings. The mission school chil- 
dren formed the choir, and together 
choir and congregation sang Jim’s 
holy songs. Many a soul was won 
from among the poor folk he so loved. 
In the course of time a church was 
organized at the white chapel, and 
gradually the character of this part 
of the city was changed. The tene- 
ments gave place to better apartment 
houses, where decent living was easier, 
and Ferry Alley was a different place. 

57 


Cfic t^oice of a Cfjilb 


Bob, whom Mr. Garrick took under 
his own care, bids fair to become a 
useful member of society. 

In one of the cemeteries of the great 
city is a little grave, and over it is 
a simple white stone inscribed with 
Jim’s name and his last words; 

"*Just say Jesus” 


58 













































# 


ure 5 !912 




0002D375EDt, 


